The Jaguar Trials

by Ruth Eastham

  “You saved us.” Rafael was close to his side, brushing his shoulder. “The jaguar as well.”

  Ben looked at Rafael, then beyond him at the cage.

  The black jaguar.

  They made their way back along the pebble bar and Ben stared through the bars at the half-crouched animal, its paws submerged in the wet floor of the cage. Its fur bristled with damp; its whiskers were beaded with silver drops. Their eyes locked a second time, and again there was that unknown something passing between them. That powerful, invisible connection.

  “If we leave it in the cage,” Ben said, “it’ll die.”

  Rafael squirmed fretfully. “Yes, but…” He stared around the forest unhappily. “Jaguars are man-eating carnivores, you know. Third biggest cat after a lion and a tiger, and…”

  Ben looked at the creature, crouched so silently. Sleek velvet black. Muscles along its flank tensed. Completely motionless except for the occasional flick of its tail. Ben swallowed. “I have to open the cage.”

  Rafael gave a strangled cry of protest.

  The animal’s eyes held Ben’s gaze. Green. Gold.

  “Go over there, Raffie.” Ben handed his friend two jagged stones from the riverbed. “Keep a distance. If anything happens, jump into the river and throw these. Make a lot of noise.”

  “Ben!” Rafael’s voice rose a pitch as he scrambled to the far side of the beach. “We’ll be ripped to pieces and devoured!”

  Ben ‘s breathing speeded up. He examined the cage door. It had three bolts – top, middle, bottom. Slide them, he told himself. Ease open the door… Step behind the cage…

  Give it a clear route into the forest.

  Heart racing, he extended one arm, reached out and slid the top bolt.

  The big cat blinked.

  Ben went for the bottom bolt, having to wiggle it a bit to release it from the orange rust coating the metal.

  The jaguar stood up, its flank tensed.

  Ben heard Rafael make another strangled sound and then go silent.

  Slowly, slowly, Ben eased the final, middle bolt. He took a breath, then swung the door open and moved to one side.

  The creature stood in the gaping doorway, head raised, nose sniffing the air.

  Ben gazed at it, taking in the jet shine of its fur, the majestic curve of its back. Moisture coating it in tiny pearls.

  It all happened so fast – there was no time to react, no time to get away.

  The jaguar lunged at him. A front paw lashed out. Ben cried out as he felt the pain, acid-hot on his forearm, as the claws made contact with his skin, as four razor points ripped inwards and downwards.

  And the jaguar was gone.

  Ben watched the blood run down his arm and drip off his fingers, mesmerized by the bright red that was pouring from the gashes.

  “We need to stop the bleeding!” cried Rafael, rushing forward. “You could get a parasite infection. Or gangrene! Then you’ll have to have your arm amputated! Raise the limb,” he recited, as if he was quoting from a medical book. “Apply pressure. Stem the flow.” He clamped his hand on to the cuts and hoisted Ben’s arm up.

  “Aaargh! Careful!”

  Ben looked into the dense thicket where the jaguar had disappeared. I try to help, and that’s my payback?

  He shivered, suddenly light-headed, and stumbled a little on the pebbles.

  Rafael helped him to sit up, arm still raised. “Your dad said there were emergency supplies in the canoe. Stay there!” he commanded. “Keep your arm up!” He rushed over to the canoe. “Keep pressing!”

  As if I’m going anywhere, thought Ben. The blood ran over his elbow, soaking into his shirt. He felt the sun, hot on his face; a dizziness. He applied more pressure and watched the blood slowly go more viscous as it clotted.

  Rafael came back with a dripping canvas knapsack. And a machete.

  “Steady on, Raffie!” grimaced Ben. “My arm doesn’t need to be amputated just yet.”

  “What? No!” Rafael dropped the blade on the pebbles. “These were all the things I found. They were strapped inside the canoe.” He rooted round in the bag and pulled out a first-aid kit in a plastic pouch.

  “Pass that disinfectant,” said Ben. He pulled out a wipe and dabbed at the four slash marks and the congealing blood. “I think you can take your life jacket off now.”

  “Clean the wounds really well,” Rafael told Ben, pulling the jacket over his head. “There’s a big danger bacteria will get in.” He looked wildly about him, as if a horde of microorganisms were closing in on them right that minute. “Your blood will go bad and then you die.”

  “Thanks,” said Ben through gritted teeth. He may as well have been using neat acid, the way his skin was stinging. He used another wipe. Getting an infection here was no joke, he knew that.

  He stared back at the foot of the rapids, feeling sick. Dad was out there somewhere. No medical supplies. And Ben couldn’t get to him.

  “It’s terribly dangerous, the Amazon is,” Rafael muttered. He stared fearfully around at the thick forest lining both sides of the riverbank. “Terribly dangerous. And there’s not just piranhas, you know. I read a book that said there’re anacondas and other kinds of deadly poisonous snake.” He swatted the air, agitated. “And an insect that can fly into your eye and blind you, and…”

  Rafael was really starting to get on Ben’s nerves. He pulled a bandage from the plastic pouch. Just his luck to be stuck in the jungle with the world’s most paranoid expert on jungle horrors. Ben’s hand shook as he tried to rip open the packaging.

  Rafael took it from him. “Anyway, what happened back there?” His wet hair stuck up in tufts as he unrolled the fabric. “That cable in the water – what was it? A fishing line?”

  Ben shook his head. “It didn’t look like any kind of fishing line to me. It looked as if it had been fixed across the water.”

  “What, on purpose?” fretted Rafael. “But who would do something like that?”

  “Someone who didn’t want boats on that stretch of the river?” suggested Ben.

  “Someone who wanted to sabotage our trip!” cried Rafael. “Must have been!”

  Ben still felt faint. Rafael started to wind the bandage firmly round the wound, and Ben took sharp breaths as the fabric made contact, blood straight away oozing through the gauze.

  “There are poisonous tarantulas in these forests,” Rafael went on as he worked. “And vampire bats that can kill you. And flies that lay their eggs under your skin and then the maggots hatch out and—”

  “Rafael!”

  Ben just had to know that Dad wasn’t riddled with maggots or getting bitten by vampire bats – that was all that mattered to him at that moment. “If you’ve nothing helpful to say, just shut it!”

  Rafael shut it. He blinked hard behind his glasses and looked at his feet.

  He’s just scared, Ben told himself, suddenly ashamed. He stared into the dense green that hemmed the river. He felt the jungle all round them, like a living, breathing thing.

  And something more… He couldn’t place it. Something nearby – a presence, listening, watching. His spine shivered. There was the flicker of shapes through the heat haze and dappled patches of shadow, momentary, figure-like… Then they were gone.

  Ben shook himself. You’re losing it, he told himself. Focus!

  He flexed his arm experimentally, clenching and unclenching the fingers. It still hurt like mad, but he’d have to cope. They couldn’t get upriver to find Dad; what about downriver – raise the alarm? Ben scrambled over to the canoe and inspected its smashed-up hull. Maybe they could fix it somehow, or salvage its timber; strap more wood to it. They had the machete, after all.

  They’d reach a trading post or another village or something eventually, wouldn’t they? If nothing else, they might be able to get out into the middle of the river and see back up to where the boat had sunk.

  Yeah, right! a voice inside him scoffed. And what had the captain said? Last village for fifty kilometres. He
’d been exaggerating, surely. There must be something, someone, some way to get help.

  “Look at these.” Rafael handed over a head torch and compass he’d found in the knapsack, and Ben slipped them in his pocket. “And this!” Rafael held up a large plastic container. He unscrewed the lid and brought out a thickish cylinder. He read the side of it: “Parachute rocket flare.” Rafael waved the cartridge about excitedly. “It says here that you can see these things for fifteen kilometres in the daytime!”

  “All right! We’ll try,” said Ben. “But I want to do it.”

  “Why can’t I?” protested Rafael. “Why should you always be the boss?”

  “No. I’m doing it.” Inside Ben was a secret hope. His dad’s last words went round in his head. Fire the flare. I’ll find you.

  “I’ve memorized the instructions,” said Rafael. “Unscrew the red cap. Point upwards, away from body.”

  Ben took the cylinder and gestured to Rafael to stand back. He gripped the flare with his dodgy arm. He’d need his other hand to set the thing off.

  “To fire, pull cord sharply down.”

  A trail of smoke shot from the top of the tube into the air like a firework. There was a slight recoil and Ben felt a stabbing ripple through his wound. He gazed up to watch. The streak of smoke became a bright point of light, like a star. It hung in the air a moment, before slowly making its descent.

  “Height three hundred metres,” Rafael muttered. “Duration forty seconds.” He gazed at the sky, as if expecting his dad to arrive in a helicopter any moment.

  The glow faded. Disappeared.

  They waited, sat in the shade from overhanging branches as the tropical sun beat down. The air was filled with raucous animal calls. Howler monkeys? Some kind of parrot?

  Nothing more.

  But then, what were you expecting? Ben asked himself. He felt the time ticking, heavy, oppressive. Every minute that went by meant another minute Dad wasn’t being helped. He paced about impatiently, wiping sweat off his forehead. “We’ve got to decide what to do, Rafael. We can’t just sit here!”

  Rafael folded his arms across his chest. “The books say that you should always stay by the river.”

  Raffie was right about that, at least, thought Ben. Number-one rule of the survival course they’d all had to take before starting the expedition: never leave the river. So they should check where the river went, right? He stared up as a bright blue bird flew overhead, and he followed its line of flight. They needed to get their bearings – a bird’s-eye view. And for that he needed to get higher.

  Ben looked around for a suitable tree. He found one with bark that was a mosaic of lichen and moss, with brown ant trails like lines of spilt pepper. Roots hung like leather straps from the branches. “I’m going to see where we are.”

  Ben grabbed a root with his good arm and pulled himself up.

  “A bit more to the left.” Rafael called up instructions as Ben climbed the trunk. “Yes, that branch – good! Watch out for deadly snakes!”

  Ben went higher, taking it slowly, so as not to put any strain on his cuts. He wouldn’t have to climb far, he realized, because they were already on a kind of ridge from where he’d be able to look down the river valley.

  The view quickly opened out. Ben saw the river’s enormous meandering loops as it continued, misty and glinting; the vast forest stretching away.

  But there was something else, not far. He shielded his eyes from the sun, wanting to be sure of what he was seeing. He nearly lost hold of the branch in his excitement.

  “There’s someone out there!” he shouted down to Rafael. “I can see smoke!”

  Further along the river. A column of grey smoke. A campfire! A settlement? They could get help for Dad there, sort out a search party!

  “How far?” Rafael shouted up. His voice quivering.

  “Very close!” Way closer than Espírito.

  Ben took out the compass and plotted the course between them and the smoke. They could short-cut it through the forest. It looked so much faster to do that. They had the machete to make a trail.

  Don’t leave the river, a voice in his head told him. Stick to the river. But he ignored it. They had to get help. This was their best option, he was sure.

  Ben climbed down the tree and told Rafael his idea.

  “Are you really certain? We should stay by the water, shouldn’t we? And your arm, Ben! How are you going to use the machete? I can help, but—”

  “I can use my left arm,” Ben told him.

  “Hmmm.” Rafael stared round them with a slow nod. “And the people that put the steel-wire could come and get us if we stay here!” He looked terrified at the thought.

  Ben pulled at the knapsack. “What else is in here?”

  Rafael dug around again and produced a bottle of water. “That’s everything.”

  “But there should be high-calorie bars!” said Ben. “And all sorts of packs of dry food. My dad was discussing the emergency supplies with the captain before we set off!”

  “The captain took them? Who knows?”

  OK. So they had no food. Ben screwed the top off the bottle. “I say we drink this water now, then fill the bottle from the river to take with us.”

  Rafael looked shocked. “But think about the bacteria,” he mouthed. “Think what might have died in that water. I mean…” – he corrected himself quickly, not meeting Ben’s eyes – “er … gone to the toilet in the water. In any case,” he continued, “you said the smoke is really close. We can drink that now, and have more when we get there.”

  They shared all the water between them; then, guided by the compass, Ben hacked his way in the direction of the smoke, Rafael following with the knapsack. The machete sliced easily through the wispy branches that screened the way, and Ben felt himself get into his stride. They’d find help. Get a search party organized for Dad. The thought injected him with sharp little doses of hope.

  They walked through cool groves where the trunks looked as if they were wrapped round with green felt. They walked down gently sloping banks, bearded with ferns; above them, an overlapping mat of feathery leaves.

  Quickly, though, the forest became more dense. Branches snapped back at them like whips; their clothes snagged on thorns and sharp leaves. Insects swarmed round Ben as he cut the trail, biting his skin, leaving tiny pockmarks of blood.

  “Don’t scratch them spots!” warned Rafael. “Won’t take a second for germs to get in there!”

  From time to time the forest opened up so that the relentless sun glared down on them. There was no escaping the heat. Ben felt his damp clothes rub uncomfortably against him; his body prickled with sweat. Even in the shade, the heat was blasting.

  They trudged on for what felt like hours. He hadn’t expected it to be so hard, so slow-going. The smoke had looked so close from the tree, but getting there … it was almost impossible.

  The clicking of insects drilled into Ben’s head. And he was getting flashbacks now too. He couldn’t stop them. The accident. Dad.

  His bad arm throbbed. His lips were dry. His tongue felt swollen in his mouth, which was full of disgusting gelatinous saliva. He needed water badly. This was supposed to be the rainforest! Where was all the rain? They should have done what he’d said and filled the bottle from the river. He hacked at a vine to make a passageway. No rain, only forest.

  Forest.

  Forest.

  Now, though, the trees looked as if they had scales instead of bark. Shaggy moss ran along branches like black fur. Broken-off stumps crouched like gravestones, cupped clusters of fungus running up their edges; pale ears listening.

  It definitely hadn’t looked this far to the smoke from the treetop – it had seemed just a few hundred metres. Maybe they should have stayed by the river, tried to fix the canoe. Ben took in a big breath, imagining he could smell the burning wood of a campfire.

  But there was nothing except the dank odour of rotting vegetation.

  “How much further?” Rafael cal
led anxiously. Their pace had slowed right down as Ben tried to break through the tangle of plants.

  Did I imagine the smoke? He tapped the compass. Are we going the wrong way? Doubt nagged at him, grinding down his confidence. “Come on, Rafael!” he encouraged, trying to sound a lot more positive then he felt. “It’s going to be OK.”

  Ben felt a painful ache along his machete arm, but the jaguar wound was too sore to allow him to use that arm. He didn’t know how much longer he could go on cutting a trail.

  Underfoot was a crust of decaying leaves that made him think of layers of dead skin. Fallen branches lay about like strewn bones. Leathery roots ran over the surface of the ground, and stems snaked round their ankles, tripping them up.

  “Why did our boat have to go off the route?” Rafael complained as he hobbled after Ben. “None of this would have happened if we’d kept to my pa’s map!”

  Ben turned on him. It was just too hot, too hard, to take any rubbish. “That stupid map was a fake! And sorry, but we can’t all be descended from conquistador Orellana!”

  Rafael’s voice was indignant. “That bit’s true! You’re just jealous! And so what if the map wasn’t real?”

  Ben stopped, mid-chop. “You knew?”

  Rafael flushed bright red. “I always suspected,” he replied meekly. “They didn’t have that kind of paper in 1553.”

  “You knew all along, and didn’t say anything!” Ben shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

  “I tried to tell Pa, but he’s a bit obsessed with finding El Dorado – he’s just too busy to come here himself. He’s a very important man you know!” He sat down on a log in a miserable heap.

  Ben let out a long slow breath. He went over and crouched by Rafael, digging the end of the machete in the dirt. “Your dad will be worried sick about you, you know, Raffie,” he said quietly.

  Rafael kept his head down and shrugged.

  “’Course he will,” Ben went on, trying to sound sincere. “Once he knows you’re missing, and thinks you could be dead.” He bit his tongue as soon as he’d said the words – but oddly Rafael looked quite cheered by that idea.